


The Enterprising Sith’s Theory of Recruitment, Employment and the Intellectual High Ground

by Tulak_Hord



Series: An  Amalgamation of Anachronistic, Antidisestablishmentarian Antics [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Ahem; Higher Ground Enterprises (c), BAMF Obi-Wan Kenobi, BAMF Shmi Skywalker, Darth Vectivus is a tired Sith Dad, Gen, Jango is confused, Mand'alor Jango Fett, Resurrections, Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi, Sith Temples, Spoiler: She wins all by herself, The Hutts vs Shmi Skywalker, Though she had help from the folks at High Ground, Time Travel, Who doesn't know he's Sith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28314855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tulak_Hord/pseuds/Tulak_Hord
Summary: All in all, Darth Vectivus considered himself one of the luckiest Sith Lords of all time. Obi-Wan was the most wonderfulsonapprentice in the Galaxy, Higher Ground Enterprises was turning out to be an exceedingly profitable venture (just as predicted) and they were in the process of insidiously dismantling the Hutt Slave Trade just as resolved.There was no need to crash land on a stupid desert planet with a Mand'alor in tow, and fall hopelessly, foolishly in love withher. ABANDONED
Relationships: Jango Fett & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Darth Vectivus, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Shmi Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Shmi Skywalker/Darth Vectivus
Series: An  Amalgamation of Anachronistic, Antidisestablishmentarian Antics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073768
Comments: 73
Kudos: 248





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's recommended to read 'The Essential Guide to Parenting and Adoption for the Enterprising Sith Lord' before this as it won't make much sense otherwise.

**The Enterprising Sith’s Theory of Recruitment, Employment and the Intellectual High Ground**

“Now, this is what I should call a stimulating matter. Simple enough, to be sure, but not unwelcome activity, by any means. I have always maintained that introducing appropriate adrenal stimuli in a life of datapads and negotiation ought to be a regular fixture in the existence of the typical _Tsis.”_

Obi-Wan nodded sagely, as much as could from within the EVA suit, at least. His Tsis ~~father~~ Master had insisted on the additional protective measure, in the off-chance that his protective Force shield wasn’t enough, and if there were any ejections.

Of course, they were at the moment hurtling through space at rather an unholy speed, programmed to crash into a random spice frigate in the Arkanis sector.

“Have you thought up a moniker for myself, Master, when I become a _Jen’ari_ in my own right?”

He _really_ needed to be able to translate those words, but he had a good grasp of them even now, he supposed. Besides, Master Vectivus (he preferred the title over _Taral Valum_ when contemplating serious matters) had promised he’d take him to a _Tsis_ temple after he turned sixteen.

“Hmm- the name of a _Jen’ari_ bears with it great power - a doom, if you will. No- not ‘doom’, I meant fate. It is rather difficult to come up with one nowadays, I confess- all the good ones seem to have been taken. _Hord_ _, Ragnos, Andeddu-_ and, of course, Lord _Vitiate_. He proved to be one of the greats, as well- if not the greatest of our order. Ah- I suppose ‘Tyranus’ could serve to be elegant, but it sounds rather juvenile.”

They’d hit the spice freighter any moment now. 

"Tyranus? Blech. I thought the _Tsis_ were supposed to be peaceful, and focus mainly on understanding and consolidation, as well as economic prosperity as we have ensured for Melidaan. Tyranus just sounds- Tyrannical." 

"Why, it does too. Forgive me, son- I truly wonder why I ever had that thought. It is completely unlike me- even I find it so. Terribly odd, these matters- but the Force has a hand in these as well, I should wager. For now- brace, if you would please." his Master replied smoothly, knowing something of astronavigation and simple kinematic operations himself. 

"On time, too. Slavery is a distasteful business. I myself would not want to have come here one moment later than necessary." 

Their specially designed Infiltration Module (Higher Ground Enterprises; 958 ARR- all rights reserved) was about two seconds from obliterating the freighter's side.

"Ah, patience, Obi-Wan. We can always discuss philosophical matters during the battle." Vectivus replied, exceptionally calmly. 

* * *

Dzr'tak Korda, or 'Mindyerownbisniss' as he liked to call himself, was a perfectly honest Devaronian spice-hauler and liked to give a wide berth to surprises. 

Apparently, the surprises did not particularly wish to give him equal space, as the most terrifying _crash_ of his life now demonstrated. 

Scared nearly out of his wits, he recovered his powers of sight in time to see that a cylindrical craft, of some sort, with an apparent pincer for a head had cleaved into the side of the _Redhorn's Revenge,_ the trusty ship that had run this (perfectly honest) slave trafficking business for years. 

It seemed to have, by some sort of sorcery (or just good engineering), disabled lighting systems and all that the _Revenge_ did not explicitly need to function as a ship, right as emergency sealants somehow connected seamlessly to the enemy fuselage (it almost seemed as if it had been designed for that). 

Out leapt two red-robed and black-cloaked figures, one stepping out of a protective EVA suit of some sort, saying something that he couldn't hear due to the explosion having temporarily deprived him of his hearing. 

He began to panic, as the two exceedingly menacing figures made their way toward him. However, as any good Devaronian should, he thought of his job and the fact that he would like to keep it (this haul of Mandalorian slaves from Galidraan was proving _really_ profitable), he pressed his emergency signal for the ship's Zygerrian captain. 

And then passed out. 

* * *

"Now, my good Gentlemen, there's no need to behave like uncouth _savages._ It is perfectly possible to have a civilised altercation, even though tha tmay not seem to be in fashion these days." said Vectivus, rather wryly. 

From the jungle of assorted blasters, vibroblades and even the odd vibrowhip that encircled him and Obi-Wan, a voice spoke. 

"Surrender first, pirate, and then we'll talk." 

The _nerve_ of the fellow! 

"Pirate? Why, such calumny! I happen to run a legitimate enterprise, which a certain group of people that may or may not be present here do not."

The voice stalled, and the Force told him that something had just been typed into a datapad.

A few whispers were heard, and he used Force Sense to pick up on them. 

"Speaks like a toff... could be rich..." He let it pass. He was rich, thankyouverymuch, but was not in a terribly philanthropic mood. Not when he was recruiting potential employees. 

"State yer name and purpose, and we could let you go for a price!" 

Name and purpose? Why, such a broad question- although Obi-Wan had taught him what such truncated dialect often meant. 

"Tor Valum, at your service. Founder and Chairman of Higher Ground Enterprises, Melidaan- formerly Melida/Daan if you are confused. If you wish to know why I have deigned to grace this dilapidated vessel of yours presently, it is for advertisement purposes."

A few glances here and there were exchanged. 

"I've... heard of you." said a tall Zygerrian, walking ahead of the rest. Although Vectivus found invading minds rather inelegant, he took the liberty of doing so and found that he was the Ship's captain. 

"All good things, I hope?" 

"You don't understand, foolish man- the field is no place for corporate types like you. Now if you want to get back to your precious little planet, surrender your valuables at once! And the Kid, as well. He comes with us." 

Well, he was asking for it. The sentiment he could understand- the field being no place for executives was precisely where the benefits of being a Sith Lord shone, thus leaving his interventions always unexpected. The demand for Obi-Wan, however...

Now, he had gone too far. 

* * *

The men watched incredulously as their captain's breathing first began to falter, at no motion from either of the intruders. He then dropped onto the floor, coughing and choking, pupils rolled back into the sockets, with only the white visible- and then breathed no more. 

"Ahem, clean the poor fellow up, would you? I did not know he had heart problems. Most inconvenient at a scene of negotiation." this man- Tor Valum- seemed to say, an odd yellowish glint in his eye. 

_"TARAL, YOU DID NOT JUST- ah, kriff it."_ said the smaller figure with ginger hair, smashing his hand onto the floor quicker than the eye could see. 

Not a shot was fired, unable as they were to do anything, having been blasted into the floor, the ceiling, and the walls.

* * *

"Force repulse already? Most impressive, Obi-Wan! Have you been practicing in your free time, I wonder?" 

" _THIS IS NOT THE TIME, TARAL!"_ Obi-Wan said, still angry that his Taral had rather casually murdered the slaver-in-chief after promising to negotiate. He thought _he_ was the one who felt strongly about these matters, but had decided the best path would be to capture and interrogate them later about other slave-ships in the system. 

Taral, as always, had his own way of doing things, and it was back to undiplomatic circumstances, as it always seemed to be. Was it something the captain had said? He hadn't asked anything too outrageous, only insisted that Obi-Wan be left on the ship to serve them as well as valuables. What a slaver would ask, naturally. Nothing to get too riled about. 

"Ah, well, I typically try to converse about something pleasant in a battle..." said Taral, igniting his new purple lightsaber, just as Obi-Wan ignited his yellow one, "But if you insist to speak about conflicts in philosophy, so be it." 

A small massacre later, they found themselves in the hold. 

A tragic sight awaited them, slaves drugged up with spice being made to work mechanically on some sort of assembly line- loading packages into a droid's arm. What was more worrying was the Devaronians with Sniper rifles who had positioned themselves in convenient nooks. 

"I TOLD YOU, I wont just force-choke somebody to _death,_ no matter how nasty they are. That's something a Sith Lord would do- not a Tsis! You told me we use the Dark Side in tandem with the light, to balance the Force and make things better for others! Oh, and they're there, there and, um- there." he pointed out, using his foresight to point the snipers' locations." 

"Thank you, I'll just borrow those-" said his Taral, wrenching each single rifle out of their hidden assailants' grasps- "Well, then, we _are_ making matters better. We are raising the available living-space in the Galaxy by removing those upon whom it is wasted." he continued, smashing a few more of the Slavers into the walls. 

"We DO NOT look at things that way!" Obi-Wan said, ambushing a Zygerrian and knocking her out- "By the way, ought we not to arm the poor people here?" 

"Ah, yes- I'll need to deactivate the slave chips first, give me a minute..." muttered Master Vectivus- "...and _there._ Now you, my dear sir- _ah!"_

The freed slave, displaying inhuman speed, had tackled his Taral and taken him down. Somehow, it appeared he had stolen a blaster from the general melee and hidden it. 

"Halt right there." Obi-Wan said loudly, smashing the last of the slavers against the conveyor belt. 

"Lay down your weapon, _Jetii,_ and don't try any funny business." came the rather gruff voice.

Not that he intended to try any. Taral was in danger, amd it called for seriousness. He never planned in any 'fummy' business' to begin with- it would be rather straightforward. He'd use the same motion that he lwoered his lightsaber with to drop something heavy on the assailant's head.

" _Slowly."_ the man commanded- and Obi-Wan complied. 

"Ah, dear sir- I must congratulate you on your strength of will. Faking a spice dream while resisting the temptation is quite the- _aah!_ No need to twist my arm, Mand'alor Fett. Let us not be uncivilised about this. Not all Mandalores of the past were uncivilised, and I was rather hoping that you-"

"You know who I am?" the slave said, looking incredulous. The man in his grasp, pinned down in an exceedingly uncomfortable posituon, seemed bemused- and how he could seem bemused at that position was an utter mystery. 

"Why, yes. It is partly for that reason that I- Obi-Wan, no!" 

It was rather too late, as Obi-Wan had used the assailant's distraction to wrench away a heavy block from the ship's structure and drop it on his head. 

"Sometimes, my dear apprentice, sometimes..." 

"I was saving you, Taral! Don't tell me that you-"

" _Yes,_ I had it under control. That was Mand'alor Jango Fett, taken three years ago from the battle of Galidraan as a slave. The last of the True Mandalorians. WE NEEDED HIM TO LIKE US." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations  
> SITH 
> 
> Tsis- Sith 
> 
> Jen'ari- Darth 
> 
> Taral- Guardian; the closest thing to a Father the Sith Allow
> 
> MANDO'A
> 
> Jetii- Jedi 
> 
> Mand'alor- King


	2. Crackbrained Crashes

_"Taral."_

"Yes, my dear Obi-Wan?" 

"It is a rather obvious fact that this ship is falling apart." 

Vectivus looked at his fingers and hummed to himself, observing the various phenomena involving depressurisation rather more clamly than necessary. 

"That it is, most certainly." 

"SO?" 

"Why, Obi-Wan, I thought you- what was the term- _had it under control._ " he told his apprentice, voice dripping a Sith's venom. 

"Perhaps I missed something, _Mr. Valum,_ but since when did I ever give that impression? THIS IS NOT OKAY!" 

The Sith Master allowed himself a small chuckle. 

"Well, my very young apprentice, I assumed you knew that _quite_ well when you decided to wrench away a part of the circuit of the hyperdrive stabiliser to give our good friend the Mand'alor a rather rude sedative." 

"I- _what?_ How did you know that?" 

"It is called _Mechu-deru_. A useful skill to have- though with your deplorable disinterest in engineering to begin with, I doubt you shall ever master it."

"Well- well- _what are we going to do?"_

"Suffer through a happy landing, quite obviously. I find that quite the pain, considering that we are currently in the Arkanis sector, a rather wretched place to begin with, and the closest planet happens to be this deleterious desert planet under Hutt Control." 

His apprentice clapped a palm to his forehead. "Not _another_ happy landing!"

"Let that be a lesson to you. We do not employ uncivilised methods to knock out people we wish to manip-er, _employ_ to our aid, and particularly those of the True Mandalorians- if only because they shall eventually take their revenge for even the slightest grudge." 

"Sorry, Master." said his ~~son~~ apprentice, eyes turning wide and sad, face looking down. Vectivus mentally cursed and looked anywhere but at him, which was not the correct decision, as Obi-Wan began ambling toward him with a small, hopeful little expression that said he wouldn't do anything wrong the enxt time. 

"Please forgive me, Taral. I was only trying to protect you. The next time, I shall envisage to ensure that-"

"Yes, yes, there is no need for apology. Go and get control of the ship now, while I pacify and cheaply recruit our new employees while they are still delirious from the explosions and unable to form coherent thought". said Vectivus, offering a little too much information. Who could blame him,. when faced with that devastating terror of a sad face? 

He had forced himself to gaze at those sad, grey-blue eyes that turned curiously cerulean at the moment, and it had taken remembering the most grotesque Sith rituals of Dathka Graush to resist the temptation to pick him up and instantly forgive him. 

He was nearing _sixteen,_ for evils' sake! People of that age ought not to have that ability! 

"Control the ship? B-but _Taral,_ flying is for droids... are there any droids? I- I think we killed them all. No matter- I caused this. I must be the one to rectify it. If this leads to the deaths of all that I hold dear, know that I am truly sorr-"

"Forget it, _I'll_ pilot the damned ship." Vectivus said, keeping his Ancient Sith curses on the tip of his tongue. _A Sith Master does not fly his own ship!_

And yet, for the way Obi-Wan's face lit up when he was informed that he would not have to, Vectivus found himself nearly rushing to the cockpit. 

* * *

"Taral?" Obi-Wan asked, from amidst the smoke and flames of atmospheric entry. 

"Yes, son?" came the exceptionally tranquil voice from the cockpit. Obi-Wan had learnt that this was the voice his Taral employed when everything was quite literally crashing and burning round him as he did the equivalent of sipping tea and radiated an air that screamed _'It seems I am in danger; how novel'._

"Mand'alor Fett seems to be stirring." he said, observing the faintly quivering True Mandalorian ( _True Mandalorian!)_ out of the corner of his eye. 

"That was only forty minutes. Terribly impressive." 

"What do I do with him?" he asked this time, as he had made up his mind to be careful. 

“Try a _Qâzoi Kyantuska._ It might help to see if it works.”

Obi-Wan tried forging a gateway to the Mandalorian’s mind, only to find a ravaged field of blood and war. The man’s presence was as if a storm’s crack- only the lightning, and nothing else, with no promise of a tranquil aftermath.

“I can’t access his mind- let’s see- QÂZOI KYANTUSKA!” he chanted, and waves of drowsiness floated from his presence, permeating the very air around his quarry.

A weak grumble escaped him. _“Demagolka dar’manda Jetii…”_

“It didn’t seem to work, Taral.”

“How did you come to this inference, if I may ask?” said his Taral, utterly unfazed, as the _Redhorn’s Revenge_ made a sharp turn, its dilapidated fuselage suffering for it.

“He called me a _Demagolka dar’manda Jetii.”_

The shift in the air was immediate.

“ _DWOMUTSIQSA! JIAASJEN MWINTUSKA HÂSKÛJONTÛ…”_

So terrifying was the chant, so haunting the syllables, that a soft _‘No…’_ escaped the half-conscious Mandalorian’s mouth, even as he understood nothing. Displaying great presence of mind, Obi-Wan simply hit him on the head again, knocking him out for a second time.

“Don’t you _dare_ blame me for that one, Taral…”

“Sorry, sorry… I shall admit that even I get carried away sometimes. In hindsight, that was perhaps the best solution. One must not forget the distinction between a usual true Mandalorian and a punch-drunk one. The latter happens to be significantly more dangerous- a pity I forgot.”

“Whatever you say.” Obi-Wan muttered, hiding his irritation. He knew very well that his Taral was an absolute hypocrite.

The true problem was that Obi-Wan, for some reason inexplicable to himself, happened to love him all the more for it.

* * *

It was with a soft groan that Jango woke to the acrid smell of distant fumes, and the burning heat of a star upon his face. He wasn’t entirely new to the sensation.

He seemed to have lost his sight, and his voice. He retained his sense of touch, and very quickly deduced that some very evil villain was drilling a hole into the top of his head.

They were being particularly messy about it, too. They kept manoeuvring the drill this way and that, just about missing the grey cells of his brain- and it seemed his skull had been split open in two places, not just one.

For the first time in his life, he felt as if the pain was nearly overwhelming. That was… _entirely_ new, really. He had not felt this way for a long time… not since… _Buir Jaster’s_ death.

“Just… finish it, _demagolka_ … if I am to die in a _dar’yaim_ hell such as this, it is best if that happens… augh... soon…”

And in another moment, sand was covering his mouth. Sand was everywhere.

It was in his nostrils, lungs, mouth- _coarse, rough, irritating…_

Through the haze, he forced himself to focus. It seemed that voices were speaking, the same damnably eloquent and far too Jaster-like voices that had led to this… situation.

“Oh, I am terribly sorry. I seem to have… _slipped._ ”

“Har har, Taral. Look- one could not be more obvious about intentionally dropping something or someone. You were entirely too graceful about it for it to have been an accident.”

“Hmm. Your skills of observation and deduction have neared refinement, I see- just as your Force Repulse has. Perhaps we could move on to the true meat of the curriculum next. I do believe you shall exhibit a knack for death fields and force maelstroms.”

“Please, just… keep talking. Makes the end come nearer.” Jango gritted out. There was something about how they spoke that sent the world spinning, plummeting, spiralling away.

The next thing he knew, there was an odd sort of force skimming over his forehead, and he was being flipped onto his back.

“Are you alright, good sir?” said a voice, and the surging power in his forehead told him to open his… _eyes?_ Yes, those things below his forehead. He had them.

Oh, he could see. That was also new- or was it? He’d have to think on it later.

There was sand- sand everywhere. Indeed, a _dar’yaim_ hell. There was a pretty thing above him, however.

A rather young face, with large, grey-blue eyes that seemed already filled with some hidden wisdom. The face seemed to display only concern, concern for _his well-being._

That, he had to take some getting used to.

And then he remembered the very same face from that hellship. That same, _kriffing_ face which looked completely different with eyebrows narrowed in anger. It belonged to a certain devil who had somehow made the sky fall on his head- and while in space, of all places!

Well, dying to a heathen god would be a worthy death.

“I was… wrong… you- aren’t a _Jetii._ You’re the- the _Eparavud runi’la-“_

“Right, sir, you have gone too far. _QYÂSIK NINUSHWODZAK-“_

“No, no! Taral, that’s enough of that! You can’t just- expel the entrails of anybody who insults me in any way! He’s dehydrated, drained, cranky and the last thing he likely remembers is me knocking him out!”

“What the- _how did you translate that?!”_

“I translated that?!”

“By the Ka’ra, enough! Please, enough! _Ni ceta!_ I yield!” shouted Jango, bringing his fingers up to his face. The conversation was torture of a more brutal kind than he had ever faced before. 

The voices ceased their clamour, and it gave him time enough to gather hold of his thoughts and rise from his position.

It was not a good idea, as his gorge rose and he vomited violently into the sand- there was a little something red over there, perhaps blood- he couldn’t really care…

 _“Easy there, easy… Eyah seh maat, shu kor huaan…”_ whispered a soft voice in his ears, just as a pair of arms encircled his waist and held him there.

Having recovered enough, he warily swept round, as the pair of hands left him almost instantly.

Above him were the same black-robed figures that had attacked the slave ship. One had long, dark hair (which had begun to show the beginnings of grey), and towered over the other, who was clearly the devil.

He remembered tackling the former, and getting utterly demolished by the latter- and he recognised the voices as well. The former was chanting those torture-rhythms, it seemed, while the latter was soft, soothing…

Just as he came to the uncomfortable realisation that these dark-robed invaders were, in fact, his saviours from the slave-ship and not oppressors, a convenient gunshot rang out from among the dunes, followed by a splatter of red.

“Oh… oh, dear…” said the taller figure, knees restraining themselves from buckling, just as the smaller one screamed.

“It seems pathetic, uncivilised places do get the best of me, even in this time…” he muttered softly, before collapsing in a heap.

The next thing Jango knew, they were in the middle of a howling sandstorm, the ginger-haired boy- _boy-_ with his hands upraised, face alight in a wrathful rictus that did the impossible. 

It terrified Jango to his core, while simultaneously leading him to think " _Now this is somebody I'd like to have as vod."_

The boy's offences against his skull were immediately forgiven as he scrambled to find a blaster. There were foes to kill. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS
> 
> SITH  
> Mechu-deru- The ability to control a mechanical apparatus through the Force if one possesses and understanding of its workings (the understanding may even be instinctive, such as in Anakin's case, for whom the ability was exceptionally powerful) 
> 
> Dathka Graush- the most violent and evil of all Ancient Sith Lords, who was so vile and cruel that he was murdered by his own people (who were brutal Sith Purebloods themselves) so they wouldn't all die at his hand.
> 
> Qazoi Kyantuska- "Suppress Thought"- Sith equivalent to Jedi Mind Trick, the catch being that is also works on the strong-minded. 
> 
> Dwomutsiqsa! Jiaasjen Mwintuska Haskujontu- "Summon demon; integrating the shadow of the pain-coddled..."
> 
> Qyasik Niushwodzak- "May the Force knot entrails..." (unfinished) 
> 
> Eyah seh maat, shu kor huaan: Unknown; something soothing 
> 
> MANDO'A
> 
> Demagolka- Monster/Monstrous
> 
> Dar'manda- The state of being not Mandalorian, i.e. Soulless
> 
> Eparavud runi'la- 'Devourer of Souls' (pretty much antichrist) 
> 
> Ni ceta- 'I kneel' 
> 
> Dar'yaim- "Not-place; Void" (hell) 
> 
> Ka'ra- The Ancient Council of Mythical Mandalorian Kings (could also mean 'The Force') 
> 
> Buir- Parent (Jaster Mereel was this to Jango, albeit adopted) 
> 
> Vod- Brother


	3. Sorry

I'm sorry to have to present this 'anti-update', but sadly, this tale is getting nowhere. I'm afraid to say I've made the decision to abandon it. 

Said decision took a month of agonising over until it was finally made, as I'm rather fond of this little piece. A large part of it was going to proceed using Fialleril's (excellent) extrapolations of Tatooine Slave Culture, but halfway through, I could not do it. 

Firstly, I have always tried and always shall try to separate material I draw from from 'fanon', as it were, for the simple sake of order and consistency. I also felt uncomfortable in including another's imaginings in anything I write, whether or not they may be free for use. I cannot do with wondering over whether or not I've interpreted it all correctly, and cannot quite manage weaving in any imagining that is not my own, however well-constructed it may be. 

However, without those cultural elements, the plot sort of... falls apart. Even though this is 'crack treated seriously', I don't feel it shall work without an overarching plot involved. 

As such, this shan't be finished, but the idea of a Sith Obi-Wan and my particular choices in characterising Darth Vectivus are certainly free for use, should anyone wish to take it anywhere. 


End file.
